


King's Verdict

by jummy



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Pre-infection, i dont know how tags work?, pk isnt evil woah, there are a lot of headcanons in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jummy/pseuds/jummy
Summary: The dawn of the Infection has reached its zenith, and the Pale King vies to pull through in sealing the Radiance. This follows several headcanons surrounding just pre-infection times that the game leaves vague, like Xero and Isma's death, as well as the more personal toll becoming a dreamer takes.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	King's Verdict

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Only Option](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781822) by [ChaoticMind (ChloeCasey)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeCasey/pseuds/ChaoticMind), [Chloe Casey (ChloeCasey)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeCasey/pseuds/Chloe%20Casey). 



> uhhhhh first fic woo????? this is woefully underdeveloped and scary as fk to post but here we go

The Abyss is dark; cold. Cold in a way that eludes words, playing at the edge of the mind in an incessant, perpetual dance. If regret were physical, perhaps. 

But the Pale King has grown numb to it. 

A loud clatter cuts through the almost painfully dense emptiness, the echo that should have followed left unsung. Wyrmlight takes its place, flaring pure and unerringly bright from the outcrop above. Then a lance of swirling white light shrieks across the far wall. It rends a jagged slash in the cold, black stone, veering off erratically before slamming into the pile of discarded masks at the bottom. The spear of light shatters, fractals of the King's light illuminating the massive spray of broken shells in its wake. 

The Pale King stands at the very tip of the ledge, heaving for breath that seems to escape him every time. His shaking hands are covered in fresh wounds. They weave across his carapace with the grace of a crippled butterfly; unsettling reminders of an almost ironic impurity. He collapses onto the platform above with a choked gasp, retching and shuddering. The marks on his hands pulse faintly.

Then the King convulses abruptly, a spray of black painting the metal beneath him as he coughs. The hacking fit ends in something of a gurgling hiss, the Wyrm's claws scraping lines into the platform as he raises his head. Inky blackness drips down his chin and neck, and his wings dissipate as he clutches his chest, falling back to the floor in a shuddering heap. 

That same deafening silence greets him, his echoless wheezing the only sound as a thousand sightless eyes watch and wait.

* * *

_Click. Click. Click._ The Pale King’s eye twitches ever so slightly in irritation, a single claw tapping his desk. Lurien fiddles with his hands absentmindedly as the King gives a frustrated sigh. 

“How many times must we rehash this, Watcher?” he asks, a slight edge to his voice. “We’ve discussed this far too many times for you to have forgotten.”

Lurien is silent for a moment. His mask shifts slightly as he lowers his gaze, claws falling still. 

“It’s a lot to absorb, my King,” comes the quiet response, directed almost more at the floor than the King. He takes a deep breath, sitting up to meet the Pale King’s tried gaze. 

“I understand the necessity, but that doesn’t exactly diminish the cost of the endeavor,” the Watcher continues. His claws are back to wringing distractedly. The Pale King sighs again, lowering his eyes.

“I’ve nothing more to say, Lurien.” His voice is softer; gentler now.

“I know.”

“I’ve nothing more I _can_ say.”

“I know.”

A long silence passes, punctuated only by the tapping of the King’s claws against the cold stone of the desk. Lurien is the first to break it. He stands abruptly, nodding briefly at the King. 

“Thank you for your time once again,” he murmurs, turning for the door at the mouth of the chamber. 

“Wait!” Lurien stops, claws slipping from the knob to look over his shoulder. The Wyrm gives a preparatory sigh, standing as well.

“If it would ease your worries, I will bring you to speak with the Seer. Her insight may lessen your burden of mind, if not that of your duties.”

* * *

The Resting Grounds are a somber place, but untouched thus far by the thrall of the Infection. Their usual traffic has slowed to a crawl: only those with nothing left to lose brave the trek through the caverns above the City of Tears. But the Seer remains.

She nods to the King, then to Lurien, then finally to Isma and Dryya, a quiet purr welling in her throat. 

“Wyrm. Watcher. It’s been some time,” she grins. “About four days if I recall?”

The Pale King gives her a sharp glance, gesturing to the two Great Knights. They nod wordlessly and make their way out of her chambers.

“Perhaps distasteful, my apologies. What happens to be the issue this time?” she inquires, if just a little insincerely. The Pale King holds her gaze steadily, almost warningly.

“The Watcher has matters to discuss with you, of which I will leave him to disclose,” he declares tersely. Her soulful eyes flick to Lurien, head tilting curiously. The King backs out of the chamber, calling back to the Watcher.

“I will be waiting near the Whispering Root when you’ve finished your-” The Seer cuts him off with a flick of her antenna, and he closes the door behind him. Isma greets him with a warm smile as he rejoins them, Dryya opting for another silent nod instead. The former opens her mouth to say something before a quiet whistling cuts her off. She turns sharply, arm whipping in an arc above her head. A thick branch explodes from the ground behind the Pale King, twisting to catch the nail that embeds itself in its bark. All three turn to see a crimson form dart from behind one of the coffins.

Xero comes into view, a soft orange glow emanating from the slit in his helmet. Dread ties a knot in the King’s stomach as he watches the knight lurch forward, infection pooling at the top of his chestplate as it leaks from his eyes. 

“Xero, enough!” he barks, wings flaring into view. The shuddering bug ignores him, flickering out of view. That same whistle of air parting sounds behind him, followed by a clang as Dryya slashes them out of their deadly trajectory. Isma conjures a massive root from the ground that carries her into the air, twisting and growing as thorned branches extend from its base. Xero appears suddenly in front of them, tattered cape fluttering as he calls his nails back, the quivering blades arranging themselves around his head. 

They spiral towards the King as Xero lunges forward, orange eyes flashing. Two break off from their vicious arc to intercept Dryya’s counterattack, and he dodges around a vine that slams into the ground next to him. The Pale King barely dodges the attack, his tail whipping around as he skids across the platform. Xero turns hard without missing a beat, taking one nail in his hand as the other scythes around to slash at the King. 

The Pale King conjures a blade of wyrmlight, meeting the infected knight’s onslaught with an upslash that sends both nails spinning. Isma gives a shout from above, branches bursting forth from beneath Xero. He lets out a snarl of pain as he flies backward. His eyes snap to her abruptly, and he vanishes in a blur. A moment later, he flickers into view behind her, and a cry echoes through the Resting Grounds.

Xero’s nails find their mark in Isma’s back, stabbing directly through the platemail and out of her stomach in a spray of blood. It splatters across the ground as the root beneath her collapses, her body falling to the stone platform with a sickening thud. Dryya screams in anger, slamming the nails still clashing with her into the ground and dashing to Isma’s side. Xero cuts her path off, all four nails swirling into a deadly spiral that flies towards her head. She meets it head on, swinging her longnail in a heedless arc that sends Xero’s blades clanging against the wall before lunging towards him. He backsteps with a growl, blinking away. 

His nails float from the ground, two assuming their position next to each of his hands. The knight dives forward, one arm slashing in an overhead strike that his nails mirror. Dryya leaps out of the way, darting forward to slam an elbow into his stomach. He lets out a snarl of pain, all four nails converging on the Great Knight in front of him. She manages to jump backwards, the glowing blades burying themselves into the stone. 

Dryya wastes no time in spinning around, nail raised above her head as she leaps at Xero once again. He flickers out of view as her nail smashes into the platform with enough force to split it in two, sending a cloud of debris into the air as the ground shudders. 

The Pale King turns hastily to see him reappear behind him, one clawed hand raised. It rakes hard across the King’s face, and he lets out a sharp cry of pain. Xero’s claws close around his neck, the points digging into his carapace with enough force to send hairline cracks through the pure white surface. The Wyrm’s own claws scrabble desperately at the knight’s wrists. He can feel them breaking beneath his grip, but Xero refuses to let go, orange eyes staring unrelentingly into his. The glow of the infection is the only thing he can focus on, Dryya’s shouts echoing dimly in the distance as his heart pounds in his ears. He shuts his eyes desperately, and Xero’s claws tighten even further around his throat. The infected knight’s thumbclaws are digging into his windpipe, blood pooling around them as they pierce into his shell. The Pale King’s vision goes white as a lance of agony tears through his throat, Xero’s claws rending a jagged hole into it as he jerks them outwards. 

The Wyrm raises one shuddering hand, and a dozen blades of light spear Xero’s chest with a quiet _crunch_. The pulsating orange glow in his eyes subsides, giving way to a look of confused pain as his arms fall from the King’s neck. The blades disappear, and the Pale King collapses to the ground, wheezing. A mix of luminescent blood and void pulses from the wound in his throat, the flow abating as it slowly closes over. 

Xero’s rasping breath slowly fades into the King’s hearing, and he pushes himself to his knees. The knight’s half closed eyes flicker to the King, and he opens his mouth to speak. 

“My King, I-” he falters abruptly, a rattling cough shaking his form. He spits blood from his mouth before taking a shallow breath. 

“I.. didn’t-” He’s cut off again by another hacking fit, blood gurgling inside of his helmet. The Pale King stills his words with a gesture. 

“I know, Xero.” Relief settles in the fallen warrior’s eyes, their gaze shifting distantly to the cavern wall above, not quite focused on anything the King could see. 

“S-Sorry..” he manages to whisper, the sound stabbing at the Pale King’s heart. The Wyrm doesn’t speak, laying a hand on Xero’s shoulder as his painful rasping grows quieter and quieter. Then it subsides, and the cavern falls silent once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping to update this with another chapter soon i hope this isnt terrible??


End file.
